When her ceiling caved in, Justine Picardie sought refuge from the builders in the great hotels of London

When her ceiling caved in, Justine Picardie sought refuge from the builders in the great hotels of London. Luckily, they offered more than just a room over her head...

The plan was very simple; the builders were going to finish renovations on our house by early December, at the latest, and we would move in before Christmas, in a calm and orderly manner. But as anyone knows that has been confounded by builders, the best-laid plans are liable to come tumbling down (along with the ceilings, in our case, when the brand-new plumbing started to leak through the plaster).

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The builders promised that the remedial work would only take another 48 hours; and yes, we believed them. As it turned out, with every passing week, another promise was made that it would be just be a day or two longer until the work was completed. And so began our hotel odyssey, where an overnight stay turned into a month of itinerant living. Such is the cost of short-term rentals in central London that most estate agents say that a hotel room will be cheaper than a flat (especially if you’re booking in off-peak seasons). My own journey around London’s hotels was fairly haphazard (a triumph of hope over experience, given that I kept believing the builders’ assurances that we would be installed the very next day). But I have several friends who have been more organised in similar circumstances; all of them recommended the Little House Apartments in Mayfair (part of Nick Jones’ Soho House group), which need to be booked further in advance.

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As it happens, despite my rage and frustration with the builders, there is much to be said for living in a hotel, and a fine tradition of doing so. Mick Jagger moved into Claridge’s for two years when his house in Chelsea was being renovated, while Rupert Everett took up residence at Hazlitt’s in Soho. Coco Chanel, famously, had a bedroom at the Ritz Paris for well over three decades (preferring to sleep at the hotel rather than in the private apartment of her couture house in Rue Cambon), while the Savoy has been a second home to everyone from Charles de Gaulle to Oscar Wilde. Sadly for Wilde, his deathbed in Paris was at the rather more insalubrious Hôtel d’Alsace, where legend has it that his last words were: ‘My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go.’

BEST FOR EVERYTHING: CLARIDGE'S
I feel much the same way about Claridge’s as Holly Golightly did about Tiffany’s. For on days when she is suffering the ‘mean reds’ (overcome by a dread that ‘something bad is going to happen’): ‘What I found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffany's. It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there.’

In my experience, breakfast at Claridge’s has been the answer to several disasters; I went there for scrambled eggs on toast the morning after my first marriage ended, and when the ceiling fell down in January, I headed straight for the hotel. Needless to say, I’m not the only one who attests to its soothing effect in a crisis; Winston Churchill checked into Claridge’s after he lost the election in 1945, following in the footsteps of various deposed European royals (including the kings of Norway, Greece and Holland).

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It’s luxurious, but not oppressively so; the art deco interiors are polished and gleaming, rather than ostentatious, while the staff have a uniquely gentle approach. The bedrooms are tremendously comfortable, yet in a manageable way – the lighting is straightforward, and doesn’t require a degree in electronics to understand – and for all the grandeur of the foyer, there is an unexpected cosiness to Claridge’s. You can sense it in Audrey Hepburn’s favourite table in the Reading Room – tucked away in a velvet upholstered corner (just the place to recover from a broken heart); and in the Lalique jewel-box that is the Fumoir bar. ‘When I die, I don’t want to go to heaven,’ declared Spencer Tracy. ‘I want to go to Claridge’s’. Me too…

Picture courtesy of Rex Features

BEST FOR THE HIGH LIFE: THE BULGARI
Designed to look more like luxurious residential apartments than a hotel, the Bulgari is an appropriate neighbour to One Hyde Park, the Candy brothers’ monolith that looms across the road. This is 21st-century Knightsbridge: the playground of oligarchs and sheikhs, where security men murmur into hidden microphones, and chauffeur-driven Bentleys purr outside the front door.

This is not a homely retreat for English traditionalists – the opulent bedroom interiors are inspired by the designs of the Italian jewellers Bulgari (Elizabeth Taylor’s favourite brand); but would suit anyone hankering for the escapist glamour of a James Bond film. Indeed, it’s easy to imagine 007 on the roof-terrace of a Bulgari penthouse, suavely suited after emerging from the power-shower, sipping his vintage Bollinger as the sun goes down over the rooftops of Harrods.

Picture courtesy of Rex Features

BEST FOR SOLO WOMEN: DUKES
Despite its name, and legendary association with the author Ian Fleming (this was his favourite hotel bar, thanks to the peerless martinis), Dukes is the perfect place for a woman to stay for a while, with its well-stocked bathrooms and tranquil bedrooms, all overseen by a female general manager. The St James location is wonderfully quiet, in a hidden cul-de-sac close to Green Park, and the hotel’s Edwardian heritage is still evident in the wood panelling and portrait paintings. But there’s nothing fusty about Dukes; the service is serenely solicitous, and you can see why it has a growing reputation as a good base for businesswomen who need a temporary London home. There are bicycles outside for those who want to explore the park, a pretty conservatory inside for tea and cakes, a barman who still makes the best martinis in town, and throughout, a thoroughly civilised atmosphere.

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Picture courtesy of Rex Features

BEST FOR AGELESS STYLE: BROWN’S
Here is an impressive example of how to combine 19th-century history with a sufficiently stylish modern renovation, that has ensured Brown’s remains Karl Lagerfeld’s preferred London hotel. All this, and a literary legacy, too; for Rudyard Kipling wrote here, as did Agatha Christie and Robert Louis Stevenson (perhaps encouraged by the fact that the hotel was founded in 1837 by Lord Byron’s former valet).

The airy bedrooms feature a well-chosen mix of antiques, contemporary furnishings, and a proper selection of books; the bathrooms a discreet blend of pale marble and mosaics; the bar is decorated with 50 or so fashion photographs by Terence Donovan, and a notable modern art collection is evident throughout the hotel. There’s delicious food by Mark Hix in the restaurant, and a convenient Mayfair location just around the corner from the boutiques of Bond Street and Dover Street Market. No wonder this is Amanda Harlech’s home-from-home…

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picture courtest of Rex Features

BEST FOR CITY ADVENTURERS: THE ROSEWOOD
Although this is a newcomer to the London hotel scene, it feels as if it should have been around for far longer, thanks to a brilliant general manager (Michael Bonsor, previously of Claridge’s) and beautiful premises that date back to 1914. It’s convenient for anyone who works in the City or the Temple (my barrister husband was overjoyed to be able to walk to his chambers from here during a Tube strike), but there’s nothing workaday about the Rosewood. Indeed, such is the glamour of its elegant interiors that Harvey Weinstein moved in during the Baftas this year, and entertained everyone from Oprah Winfrey to Leonardo DiCaprio at a glittering after-party.

The gated entrance off High Holborn leads to a spacious private courtyard, and thence to a sweeping marble staircase that would be a suitably magnificent backdrop for Scarlett O’Hara. The bar is inviting, with a welcoming fireplace and sofas – hence its popularity with Londoners, as well as tourists – but the greatest privilege of all is to wander upstairs after a drink or two, and retire, contented, to bed.

Picture courtesy of Rex Features

BEST FOR GLORIOUS VIEWS: MANDARIN ORIENTAL
I arrived here, in a taxi and tears, along with five suitcases and a great many carrier bags. ‘Can I help you?’ asked the kindly hotel receptionist, to which I responded with more sobs, and an incoherent explanation of why I hated the builders who had left us homeless, the week before Christmas. Within moments, she had whisked me upstairs to a room with a Christmas tree, and a tray of tea and biscuits. I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and walked over to the windows. Suddenly, everything looked more cheerful; for there was Hyde Park, and in the distance, the twinkling lights of Winter Wonderland.

The bedrooms are traditionally furnished – plush carpets, thick curtains, mahogany wardrobes, with not a hint of orientalism – and you can see why the Queen is said to feel at home here (she learnt to dance in its ballroom in the 1930s, and the Royal Family held a pre-wedding dinner at the hotel before Prince William’s marriage to Kate Middleton). But the Mandarin Oriental certainly doesn’t feel stuffy: it’s got the buzzing Bar Boulud in the basement, which serves the best burgers in town; and charming doormen who wave you off to the Tube, as you leave for work in the morning, and greet you with a smile when you return home again at night.

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